Secrets and Lies
by Experiment XI
Summary: ONE SHOT possible final scene from 5x05 Probable Cause. Possible spoilers if you are spoiler free! In this episode Castle is a suspect in the murder of an ex. Beckett doesn't believe him capable of murder, but is left with the niggling question of whether or not he was unfaithful to her. I think. Maybe. Let's go with that...
1. Secrets and Lies

As much as we may like to forget them, some days are destined to be remembered. These are the days that define us. These are the days where we are faced with a fork in the road and must decide in which direction we will go. These are the days where the darkness weighs heavy. Days where the light struggles to break through the clouds. Such days come and such days will surely pass. These days do not, however, pass like sands through an hourglass, but like meatloaf through a straw.

For Castle, today had been one of those days. He was not a fan of meatloaf. He was partial to straws, but the combination was perilous. Today he had made mistakes. Today he had caused pain. His intentions had been pure. His methods had not. Secrets and subterfuge. Past behaviours cast his present behaviour in a very negative light. He wasn't that same person anymore, but he had built his cross and now he must bear it?...bare it?...Now he must carry its weight.

But enough pretty prose...The previous night, he had snuck out on Beckett and in the process taken a chip out of her trust in him. He snuck off to see an ex and in the process taken a chunk out of her fragile faith in him. The reason he did this is not important. The reason he had not told her is. He hadn't wanted to worry her. He had not wanted to give her cause for concern. Flawed logic indeed. Things had gone pear shaped. Murder and mayhem. He had lied to her about it and in the process he had given validation to all her fears. What a dick!

Never for a minute had she believed him to be a murderer. That he could have handled. Though she never accused him of it directly, he had means and opportunity to be a cheater; to be reckless with her heart; to be fickle with her affections; to take her insecurities and expose them.

Evening had come as it inevitably must. Darkness had fallen, as was its want. Now he slept. Time passed and the new dawn was breaking. Slowly he dragged himself through the fog, back to consciousness. Vague memories. Hurt. Anguish. A tear. His doing. A distance. Assurances to be made. A rift to be mended. A struggle. Lost words. Lost in translation. Thoughts not expressed. Feelings not understood. Accusations and recriminations. Love and need. Desire. Desperation. Holding. Clinging. Tangled limbs and lips. Plus a few other clichéd word pairings.

And here she was. Sleeping beside him. He had broken her a little, broken them a little, and it was up to him to put things back together. So he rose. Careful not to disturb her slumber. He would not leave her though. Scanning the room he saw a (conveniently located) pencil and notebook on her dresser. He took it and sat in the chair by the end of her bed. There he sat and watched her. Every now and then she snored a little. Only a little. He liked it. He liked her. Very much. And so he began to write...

Kate,

Yesterday I did a miserable job expressing to you the depths of my sorry for the pain I caused you, so I'm writing this down in the hope that I can convey my thoughts and feelings clearly and articulately (I am a writer after all!).

I'm sorry I gave you cause for pain. I'm sorry I gave you reason not to trust me. I'm sorry.

I never meant to hurt you and I know I have. I know you're scared I might do it again. I'm scared I might too. That would never be my intention, but I do seem quite skilled in the art of stuffing things up. So, I need your help. If I'm being a douche, I want to know. If I make you sad, I want to know. For my part, I promise to return the favour.

I cannot change my past and if each of my decisions has led me to where I am right now, I can't bring myself to regret them either (except for the cut-off jean period – that was a little regrettable), because right here, right now, beside you, is exactly where I want to be.

You are all I need. You are all I want. You are my everything and never again will I betray your trust. For a long time now you have been my first thought when I wake in the morning and my last thought before I go to sleep. Plus quite a few thoughts in between, especially when...never mind.

And so I sit here, watching you sleep (not in a creepy way) and I don't want to sleep. I want to wake you. I don't want to waste a moment together. Dr Seuss said it best (didn't he always?!), "You know you're in love when you can't fall asleep because reality is finally better than your dreams." You are my dream and my reality. You are my centre and my circumference.

I'll take care of your heart.

Now wake up woman – I want pancakes!

Always and forever

Xx

...Castle, by the way, in case you were wondering!

He folded the letter. Stood and placed it on the pillow beside her. He then returned to the chair and sat. Sat and watched. Watched and waited. He was not going anywhere.


	2. Truth

She stirred. He did not. Despite his protestations that he had no desire to sleep, this is exactly what he did, slumped awkwardly in the chair at the end of her bed.

Beckett slowly roused from her slumber. In that moment her mind was a blank canvas. Her soul was warm. Gradually her surroundings came into focus and a hundred fleeting recollections of her life populated her being in an instant. As these memories arranged themselves, the events of the previous day took their place at the forefront of her mind. She reached out and touched the cool sheet beside her. A brief moment of panic spread through her as she noted the absence of Castle.

Her anxiety dissipated, however, when she took stock of the figure that filled the chair by the end of the bed. Filled it to overflowing. How could something so massive look so ... delicate? Like a ... like a what?... Like a... baby whale was the best she could come up with.

She ached. Physically and emotionally. Literally and metaphorically. It was a little difficult to isolate the exact spot and the exact cause of the ache, but it was not an entirely unwanted sensation. It was the ache that came from being alive. The ache that comes before healing. It was the darkness before the dawn.

As she observed her baby whale (there it was again - that tiny ache – that tiny tug at her heart – right at her centre), she became aware of another sensation. Something was stuck to her face. Paper? She peeled the offending page free, wiped off the smudge of dribble, unfolded it and began to read... Kate,... It was for her. Good-oh. She recognised Castles scrawl instantly. Good thing writers didn't have to be good at writing. Ironic... was it? She read on... Kate, ...

Whether it was the gentle clatter of kitchen utensils or the enticing smell of heat and butter that brought him round, he could not be sure. He pulled himself up from the chair and headed out into the living area. And there she stood. Rumpled perfection. At the stove, cooking...uh huh...pancakes.

"Morning," he yawned as he ran a hand through his bed hair (chair hair?).

She turned to him and smiled, "Good morning." She raised the spatula she was holding and continued, "I got your letter." She continued to cook. "I'm going to need to see those cut-offs Castle."

Castle pulled his best incredulous turtle face. "Seriously?! That was your take-away?!"

"Well that and I do love a good mathematical metaphor – my centre and my circumference, my length and my breadth, my height and my depth," she teased.

"You're teasing me," Castle feigned hurt.

As Beckett flipped the pancakes onto plates, Castle moved closer to the bench, but he would not go to her. It was still her move. He would not push. He would let her come back to him in her own time, at her own speed.

For her part, Beckett knew he had once again been the one to proffer an olive branch. She knew he was doing all he could to show her he was not the man he had been when she'd first met him. She heard his words. She so badly wanted to believe him. She did believe him, so why was part of her still guarded? Why was she still so tentative? Why was she keeping him on the outside? On the other side of the bench. Why couldn't she say what she so desperately wanted to say?

These thoughts must have manifested themselves in her expression, because Castle looked at her with pained concern, "Kate? Are you ok?"

"Yeah. It's just...well... I just wanted to say...," she trailed off.

"Say what?" he prompted.

"I'm sorry I doubted you." It wasn't exactly what she wanted to say, but it was a start.

"I think..." Deep breath...no tears, she promised herself. "I think..." Another deep breath... One tear. Little bugger. "I think I just expected that eventually it would fall apart. Everyone goes away in the end. I was scared I wouldn't be enough for you Castle. That you'd eventually leave me and I don't know that I could take that. But you're still here."

"I'm still here," he nodded in agreement.

She made no move to be nearer him. Her move.

She looked tense. She looked worried, as if she were holding her breath.

Castle's brow furrowed as he took stock of her evident discomposure. (Nice word, he thought. Not a nice feeling though he mentally added).

He opened his mouth to seek out the source of this discombobulation (was that one even a word he wondered? If not it should be), when she spat out what was playing on her mind.

"I love you Castle!"

She smiled. Grinned is probably more accurate, then promptly burst into tears.

It was said. She'd wanted to say it for such a long time and now she had. It was out there. It couldn't be unsaid. It was a relief. Gradually she realised something. She was still standing quite alone. Why had Castle not come to her? Why had he not said anything? Oh God! What had she done!? She hastily wiped the tears from her eyes. She looked at him for answers. Was he...? Yep, he was. Castle was crying too.

That was all it took. In an instant Beckett pulled herself together and was in control again.

"God, Castle! Man up!" she commanded.

"Sorry," he blubbed, "It's just you've never said that before".

"Geez, I might not say it again if you're gunna go all Steel Magnolias on me", she smiled.

She moved around the bench to him. It was all the invitation he needed. He took her by the waist and pulled her to him, closing the distance between them (literally and metaphorically). He pulled her into a tight hug, nuzzled his nose to her neck and took in the scent he was so very fond of. He held he like that for what felt like an eternity, but was more likely 47 seconds. Then he raised his lips to brush against her ear and uttered the words he knew she longed to hear, "Play your cards right Beckett and I'll go one better than showing you photos of the cut-offs."

She pulled back from him horrified, "You still have them?!"

"I love you too," he whispered as he kissed the corner of her mouth.

"Don't change the subject Castle," she feebly protested, but gave up the fight as his lips met hers and she felt that gentle tug at her centre again. The gentle tug of love in her heart. As he kissed her with more urgency, she began to feel a few more gentle tugs in other places too...


End file.
